Paper Cut

 

The paper taunts me
it knows my weakness
it knows how I cannot sleep
with it calling to me.
No matter how many rooms and doors I put between us
relentlessly it summons
even as I crumple its blankness with my tear-damp hands.
This is no gentled muse of poetic guidings and inspiration
but a sharp and swift paper cut,
a shouting driven banshee demanding everything,
even to the last drop…
And I give in, 
as always,
scratching the words and watching as my pen drips crimson
then carefully blot it with my heart.

©jayetomas2014

 

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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